


Movie Night

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: Every Friday night, unless one of them is called away on urgent buisness. Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Greg have family movie night.This is a little insight into their family lives as adults.





	1. Chapter One

Mycroft was sitting on the sofa trying to look nonchalant reading a book, Greg had realised a while ago that Mycroft wasn’t reading the book at all, he decided not to point it out. His husband still wasn’t quite as open about his affection for John and Sherlock when they were their adult selves as he was when they were younger, but his affection or rather, love, was just the same. If they were expecting little John and Sherlock to show up he would be pacing in the driveway by now, but as it was they were expecting their adult younger brothers (John had inherited the title a short while ago after the group got frustrated explaining John’s relationship to Sherlock and vice versa and everything and oh it was just very complicated and lets face it John was part of the family.) Since they were expecting said younger brothers Mycroft was pretending to read. 

Then there was Greg, Greg wasn’t so prideful as to pretend to do anything when in fact he was excited about John and Sherlock’s arrival, but he had kept himself busy. After work on a Friday Greg had gotten into the habit of fixing things around the house. He had more than a sinking suspicion that Mycroft kept breaking things just so Greg would fix them, Mycroft never thought he would be a happily married man, certainly not happily married to a man that would fix a dishwasher of an evening! Even though Greg knew Mycroft was responsible for the frequent breakages around the house, he was more than happy to play along. He had just fixed the blockage in the sink and was pulling on a clean t-shirt as he walked into the living room.

“What time did they say?”

“John said seven, but then he also said Sherlock was being a complete pain in the backside so...”

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me for a case, I gave him some cold ones to look over and I think he’s gone a bit mental with his experim-”

“How ‘mental’?!” Mycroft threw down his book and twisted on the sofa to look at Greg.

“You know John keeps him away from anything explosive...or corrosive...or-”

“Dearest, please!” Mycroft held up an exhausted hand, “You’re just reminding me of all of the variables I need to worry about.”

“Myc, it’s fine love, anyway, they’ll be here soon.” Greg leant in a for a kiss but Mycroft turned away, not noticing.

“Mm, that does remind me though, I must increase the rent payments to Mrs Hudson, there is no way we’re paying her enough to put up with those two.”

“Oi!”

“Mm?” Mycroft turned back to Greg,

“Kiss.”

“Oh, sorry.” Mycroft leant in and Greg kissed him, pulling away satisfied before going back to Mycroft’s last point,

“Put up with the two of them? What has poor John done?!”

“Oh you’re such a soft touch, Gregory, like John doesn’t encourage him, he didn’t join the army for all the quiet nights in.”

“Oh yeah, you have a point.”

“I always have a point.”

“Yes love.”

“They’re here!” Mycroft beamed at Greg who peered out of the window before looking back at Mycroft.

“The car’s not here.”

“Not yet, can’t you hear the tires on the gravel?”

“No,”

“And it’s been exactly sixty-seven minutes since John’s last text, the exact amount of time required to drive from Baker Street to the end of the drive. He never texts when he’s a passenger in a car unless he has to, it gives him motion sickness.”

“I thought you were taking then night off, no deductions, you said!”

“They were hardly real deductions, that was just basic data that lead to the obvious conclusion that they were about to arrive, surely you noti-”

“As I keep reminding you love, not a Holmes!”

“Oh, of course.”

Mycroft stood up just in time to see the black town car pull up outside the house, he looked at Greg with a not, not smug look.

“I’ll never believe that you two weren’t made in a lab, you know?” Greg sighed as Mycroft moved from the window to the door.

“Oh dear.”

“What?!”

Mycroft opened the door just at John strode into the house,

“Eyeballs!”

“Sorry, John?”

“He brought fucking eyeballs with him!”

“Language!” Mycroft scowled at John.

“In his fucking pocket!” Mycroft smacked him on the back of the head and John rubbed the spot as he looked at Mycroft, “What did I do?!”

“You used unnecessary profanity, twice, now I’d like a hug hello please.” Mycroft was almost surprised by his own request, but not quite.

“Oh yeah.” John looked a bit sheepish and leant forward to give Mycroft a hug, “Sorry.”

“You are forgiven, now-” Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock who was approaching the door, “Eyeballs, Sherlock Holmes!?”

“It’s for an experiment!” Sherlock exclaimed sure that this would explain everything, taking off his coat and carefully hanging it up, being careful of the pocket in question.

“I don’t care if you are transporting them at the personal request of Her Majesty, brother-mine, you do not carry eyeballs about in your pocket like a….like a…. good lord no one carries eyeballs around in their pocket!”

“Tell him to get rid of them!” John looked between the two older brothers he had inherited, Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “Please.” John added.

“Better. And quite right too, Sherlock, dispose of the eyeballs-” Mycroft rounded on Sherlock again.

“But-”

“Sherlock, what are the odds of you winning this argument, mate?” Greg added, just a little amused.

“Fine!” Sherlock plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat, John and Greg leapt back to the other side of the room as he stormed towards the kitchen.

“Not in the kitchen bin!” Mycroft called after him.

“Well where then?!’’ Sherlock span around, flailing his arms in an unintentional impression of a muppet.

“Tone, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s eye’s clocked the expression on Greg’s face as he spoke. Mm.

Sherlock took a long, deep breath. “How shall I dispose of the eyeballs, Mycroft?”

“Well since you asked so nicely, come along, we have a chemical waste bin in the garden-” Mycroft put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and started to guide him towards the back door/

“What?!” Greg and John asked in unison, Mycroft turned back to look at them disbelieving their disbelief.

“Sherlock Holmes lives here, of course we have a chemical waste bin.” he sighed.

Greg and John looked at each other, they couldn’t really argue with that logic. Mycroft and Sherlock disappeared into the garden.

“Beer?” Greg offered.

“Please.”

“Which case is he working on?”

“The missing prisoner.”

“Oh that’s a good one, any leads?”

“Not yet, not unless the eyeballs have uncovered something.”

“In his pocket.” Greg spoke mostly to himself, shaking his head incredulously as they walked into the kitchen, Greg taking a couple of beers from the fridge.

Mycroft and Sherlock walked back through the back door and Mycroft clipped Sherlock on the back of the head,

“What was that for?!”

“Wasting what I’m sure were perfectly good eyeballs. You will apologise to Miss Hooper.”

“Yes, Mycroft.”

“Right, are we all hungry?”

“You mean are Greg, John I hungry. You’re always hungry.” Sherlock smirked.

“You didn’t need to add the second part of that retort, brother-mine, it was implied, it made the line a little too heavy handed.”

“A little too heavy handed.” Sherlock parroted back mocking his brother.

“Sherlock.” Greg warned.

“Can we just watch some telly for a while, I lost my appetite a little bit in the car.” John gave Sherlock a pointed look.

“Of course.” Mycroft nodded kindly at John, then nodding his head towards the living room, before John could move Sherlock pushed past him.

“I’ll pick!”

“It’s still locked.” Mycroft called after his younger brother.

“Why?!”

“Because I will not let you have free reign of the television, Sherlock.”

“But I’m not small right now!” Sherlock said in an unfortunately child like tone as he reappeared in the doorway.

“You’re always a little small, darling, but I think I’d rather let little Sherlock loose on the television than big Sherlock anyway.”

“But-”

“Why don’t you let John and Greg pick what we watch before we eat and you can pick the movie after.”

“Why can’t I pick both?”

“Sherlock.” Greg warned.

“The Liverpool match is on.” John suggested, not really expecting it to go his way but then Sherlock had been the one to turn up with body parts in his coat pocket so maybe that had won John some brownie points. 

“Neither of you support Liverpool.” Mycroft looked genuinely confused rather than argumentative. 

“Last week you made me and John watch a four hour documentary on expressionist art.” Greg said evenly, realising that watching football matches of any variety was still a somewhat confusing pass time to Mycroft.

“Your point being?”

“The entire time you kept saying, ‘I cant stand expressionism’.”

“Well I cant, the whole movement was just an excuse for lazy artistry if you ask me. It was still a fascinating documentary though.”

“Well you don’t support expressionism, we don’t support Liverpool, it will still be a fascinating game though.”

“While I’m sure ‘fascinating’ is a considerable stretch, you make a fair point, how much time is left to play?”

“Forty minutes.”

Mycroft thought for a second before nodding once, “Deal.” 

“What?! Forty! Mycroft!” Sherlock’s arms were flailing around again, forty minutes of football, he could feel his brain cells melting away into the ether. 

“Oh come on brother-mine, we have to give them a win every now and then.”

“I suppose.”

“Besides it gives you forty more minutes to think of a movie that will scare the living daylights out of me, which we both know is your ultimate intention this evening.”

“I’ve already got a few ideas!”

“I’m sure you have, now go and sit down nicely.” Mycroft gave his brother a light push in the direction of the television and he dutifully walked over to the sofa pushing himself down in between Greg and John.

Forty-two minutes later Mycroft, Greg and John were in the kitchen laying the table for the dinner that was on its way. Sherlock had wrestled the remote from Greg and was now stood in the living room trying to narrow down the options of what they would watch once they had eaten. He’d really rather watch an extra movie than eat but the other three got all ‘stroppy’ whenever he tried to avoid a meal and he’d learnt it just wasn’t worth the fuss.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock called from the living room in a sing-song voice as he scrolled through the movie options of the television screen, “Have you seen ‘It’?”

“Have I seen what, Sherlock?” Mycroft called back from the kitchen.

“No, the movie, the one about the-”

“Nothing with clowns, Sherlock!” 

“But-”

“I said no!”

“Okay … what about ‘Don’t look now’?”

“No!”

“Why?!”

“Because I don’t want to watch a movie about a small child running around in a rain coat and-”

“It’s not really a child it’s-”

“I’ve seen the movie, Sherlock, as you well know, and you are not being funny right now young man!”

“It is a bit funny.” John muttered under his breath, barely suppressing a grin.

“Owf.” Greg winced and turned around to busy himself in the cupboards, looking for...anything.

“Oh, that’s right,” Mycroft raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to face John, “That whole affair was a Watson production, now wasn’t it?” 

John was quite sure he hadn’t been so scared of Mycroft in a while as he was in that very moment. Their loving familial relationship hadn’t even been close to being on the cards when John had suggested Sherlock scare the truth out of the great Mycroft Holmes. At the time he thought the worst Mycroft could do was send him to some Siberian gaol never to be seen from again, and at the time frankly he didn’t much care. 

Now everything had changed, he loved Mycroft, as a brother and father figure. Mycroft would never do anything that meant sending he or Sherlock away, not again, they’d all agreed on that. Parting ways simply wasn’t an option for any of them anymore, no matter the crime. They were a family now, the four of them.

In that very moment John thought he’d take a month or two in a Siberian gaol, now that he knew Mycroft could do far worse. 

He’d seen Sherlock get not six, but twelve of the best with Mycroft’s cane just once. That was more than enough data for him to need to know that he never, ever, wanted to be on the end of that fucking thing!

It was with that thought that he squeaked,

“No! I mean, no sir! No it wasn’t, I mean- Sherlock I’ll help you choose!” As he scurried out of the kitchen making sure to lean away from Mycroft as he passed.

“You can be a very scary man, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg spoke quietly so the other two wouldn’t hear.

“Oh I know.” Mycroft smirked.


	2. Chapter Two

Mycroft and Greg were stood by the table they had just set for dinner, Greg holding his husband around his waist, just looking into his eyes.

“God I love you.”

“Mm, I know, inconvenient that,”

“Isn’t it just.”

There was a loud thump from the adjoining sitting room and the two men frowned at each other.

“Should we-”

“No.” Greg cut off Mycroft’s thought with a kiss, a kiss that was interrupted by another loud thump and the sound of raised voices then,

“Mycroft! John wont give me back the remote!” Sherlock called in almost sing-song voice followed by a sharp, “Ow!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as Greg released him, wandering to the fridge,

“Oh, leaving me to it are we?”

“Yes, ‘we’, are.” Greg smirked as he opened a cold beer. “Anyway, it’s you he called for.”

“Oh for goodness sake.” Mycroft shook his head and walked to the doorway between the two rooms, “Will you two- John Hamish, get off your brother this instant!”

Greg was suddenly interested and followed Mycroft into the sitting room where John had Sherlock pinned on the ground, holding the television remote aloft over his head and out of Sherlock’s reach. Mycroft pulled himself up to his full height and put his hands on his hips, standing over the two younger men.

“Ow! Get off John you’re crushing me to death!”

“I warned you!”

“It’s just the stupid results!”

“They’re not stupid!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“I’m the genius, if I say they’re stupid, then they are stupid!”

“Not much of a genius if I’ve got the remote!”

“It’s not a fair fight, you were in the army!”

“I was a doctor, I wasn’t on the wrestling team!”

“The army doesn’t even have a wrestling team!”

“Does!”

“Doesn’t!”

“Boys!” Mycroft bellowed. The two men suddenly stopped their bickering and turned to face Mycroft. “Both of you, get up off the floor right now.” John reluctantly climbed off Sherlock and stood up, Sherlock jumping to his feet the second he had the chance. They both made an attempt to look casual by dusting off their clothes. “John, give me the remote.” John reluctantly stepped forward, Mycroft held out his hand and John, without thinking, slapped it down hard into his open hand. Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up and John immediately shrunk two feet. The room was suddenly very quiet.

Mycroft slipped the remote into his pocket and shook the sting out of his hand. Then quickly took hold of John’s ear, pulling him over to the corner he usually frequented as his younger self.

“Owww! Ow!”

“I’ll give you ow in a minute, lad.” Greg grumbled, equally as unimpressed as Mycroft with their behaviour.

“I’m not a lad, I’m a man.” John muttered into the corner, his ear not yet released.

“Oh, really, well it would be lovely if you would start acting like it.” Mycroft finally released John’s ear and left him in the corner with a parting swat at his arse.

“You too, Sherlock,” Greg called from his position in the doorway, Sherlock spun around to look at him.

“What?”

Greg nodded his head in the direction of Sherlock’s corner.

“What did I do?!”

“You’re both to blame, you were winding each other up, go on.” Sherlock looked around the room as though a lawyer was about to suddenly appear and confirm that this was all completely ridiculous and illegal. However that didn’t happen. Greg snapped his fingers once and pointed at the corner. “Now.”

“Urgh!” Sherlock flung his head back, but dragged his feet over to the corner. Once they were each in their respective corners Mycroft walked over to Greg, standing beside him,

“Now, are you going to tell us what all of that was about?”

The room suddenly erupted into noise as John and Sherlock tried to shout over each other with their own turn of events.

“Enough!” Mycroft shouted over the noise and the younger men fell silent. “If the two of you can’t behave then I may just have to cancel movie night and find something more productive for the two of you to be doing. Writing “I will behave civilly and decorously”, one thousand times sounds like a good idea right now.” John and Sherlock groaned in unison. “Mm, I didn’t think you’d like the sound of that. Now, John, why did you have Sherlock pinned to the floor? And watch your tone.” 

“Because he was holding the remote out of my reach so I tackled him.”

“Okay, Sherlock, why were you holding the remote out of John’s reach?”

“It was unintentional-” Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this was going, as Sherlock continued to speak he walked into the kitchen and retrieved a particularly nasty wooden spatula from the draw. “I was only holding it at my waist, he’s just so short he couldn’t reach it.” The very second the last word left Sherlock’s mouth Mycroft brought down the spatula with a resounding ‘crack’ on Sherlock’s arse.

“Ow!” Sherlock jumped up and yelped, furiously trying to rub the sting away, he spun around to glare at Mycroft, who crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the confidence to say something clever,

“Sherlock,” Greg growled from the doorway, and any hope of a witty comeback left Sherlock, “Nose in the corner.” Sherlock spun on his toe so he was back standing where he was supposed to.

“Let’s try that again shall we,” Mycroft started back up, “Sherlock Holmes, why were you holding the remote out of John’s reach?”

“Because he wanted to watch the football scores.”

“I see.”

“But you already let them watch the rest of that stupid match!” the volume of Sherlock’s voice raised with every word.

“That’s quite enough, Sherlock, may I remind you, I am still holding the spatula.” Mycroft was sure he heard Sherlock gulp. “Right, no more television until after we’ve eaten. Honestly, gentlemen, I expect to have fights over the T.V when you’re young but this is just ridiculous.”

“Apologise to each other.” Greg said with a sigh from the doorway.

“Sorry.” The two men mumbled, not sounding remotely sorry, Mycroft rolled his eyes in Greg’s direction. 

“Right, go and sit at the table.” Both Sherlock and John jumped from their corners as though there was something toxic in them and walked as casually as possible past Greg and into the kitchen. Mycroft approached Greg and leant his forehead on his shoulder with a sigh. Greg chuckled as he stroked his back, “Oh come on Holmes, buck up, Chinese on the way.” 

Mycroft suddenly looked up, glaring at Greg, “Oh are you in on it too now? I am not that obsessed with food you know!” 

Greg was thrown for a second before remembering what a trying day his husband had just had. He pulled the remote from Mycroft’s back pocket and smacked his arse with it once, Mycroft yelped. “And that’s quite enough attitude from you.” Greg raised an eyebrow, “Give me that,” Greg took the spatula from Mycroft’s hand, “And go and sit at the table-”

“But-”

“Now!” Mycroft scurried past Greg and sat at the table with John and Sherlock. Greg turned, leaning on the doorframe and looked at the three of them. They were all looking up at Greg with the most innocent expressions they could muster. Greg pocketed the remote and pointed the spatula at them in warning, “The three of you had better knock it off, I’m not past smacking some sense into the lot of you-”

There was a knock at the door, Mycroft, John and Sherlock all jumped to their feet in the hope of getting out of the firing line. Greg held up his free hand, “Sit.” they did, “I’ll go.” Greg turned away and walked to the front door, discarding the remote control onto the sofa and hiding it behind a cushion. It wasn’t the best of hiding places but it would do until they had all eaten. Greg took the food from the delivery man and paid him a sizeable tip for coming all of the way out of town. He knew it wasn’t ‘usual’ no matter how many times Mycroft told him it was. With a tired sigh to himself, Greg returned to the kitchen with the food and started unloading it onto the table.

“Can I have a beer?” Sherlock suddenly asked, the words sounding odd as he said them.

“Yeah!” John leapt up and took a can from the fridge, putting it down in front of him.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea.” Mycroft eyed Sherlock and the can in front of him suspiciously, he was almost surprised when Sherlock knew how to crack it open.

“Oh come on!” John beamed, “I love drunk Sherlock!”

“Well I suppose if it means you two will get along like grown-ups.” Mycroft was looking around the room for a drink of his own, Greg placed a glass of red wine in front of him and Mycroft practically melted, “Thank you dear.” Greg winked. Mycroft blushed. 

“I’m not sure ‘grown-ups’ is the term I would use.” Greg chuckled.

“Mm?” Mycroft asked mid-sip. 

“That last time this one,” Greg pointed an accusatory finger at John, “Got Sherlock drunk they both ended up spending the night in one of my very best cells, as I remember.” John could feel Mycroft’s glare on him.

“’Very best’ is a gross exaggeration, and John did not get me drunk!” Sherlock sighed, exasperated at the thought.

“Thank-you!” John sat back in his chair, suddenly very relieved that Sherlock had corrected Greg. He had forgotten how hard Mycroft smacked when they were adults.

“I got us both drunk. John just threw off my careful calculations.”

“When was this?!” This was a story Mycroft couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard.

“My ‘stag do’….of sorts.”

“Ohh.” Mycroft sat back and bit into an egg-roll, “Go on.”

“There’s nothing more to it. Sherlock planned the evening so it was bloody awful, I got us a tiny bit more drunk than either of us had planned on getting and...” John gestured with his hands, hoping that would be enough and that the story would end there.

“And-” Greg picked up for John, knowing exactly why he was hoping to end the story there, “That was the first time these two got a hiding from me.” Greg smiled, recalling the memory.

“Really?!” 

“Yep.”

“I didn’t know you spanked our John before me,” Mycroft’s eyes were wide as he looked between the three men. Sherlock looked positively gleeful and John groaned burying his face in his arms. 

“Well they didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“What did you do? Drag the two them into your office for a telling off and a smacked bum?” Mycroft half snickered.

“That’s exactly what I did!” Sherlock was suddenly far less gleeful, the colour was rising in his cheeks and he let out a pained groan.

“Brilliant.”

“Not our choice of words.” Sherlock grumbled.

“I’m sure it wasn’t!” Mycroft chuckled, “Oh will you two stop looking so sorry for yourselves, it’s not as though he hasn’t done the exact same thing to me before.” With that Mycroft put his empty glass down on the table and suddenly frowned, “Alcohol may not have been a good idea.” John and Sherlock instantly shook their own embarrassment and grinned at each other before turning to look at Mycroft. “Well you know what this one-” Mycroft tilted his head in his husband’s direction, “Is like with ‘laws’”, Mycroft added the air quotes, “And ‘breaking them’”. 

“Oi!” Greg leant over and pinched Mycroft’s bum, eliciting a squeak. “Don’t be cheeky.” 

“Sorry dear.” Mycroft half pouted,

“You’re forgiven,” Greg waggled his eyebrows and leant in for a kiss.

“It’s completely unfair that Mycroft avoids getting smacked by flirting, its not like we can do that!”

“Sucks to be you,” Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow, “As the youths say.” There was a moment of silence before John, Sherlock and Greg burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, I am so old, and so out of touch, isn’t it hilarious.” Sherlock nodded through his laughing fit, “Now Sherlock Holmes, will you please eat some dinner, you’ve not had more than a mouthful so far.” Sherlock settled down and turned to Mycroft with his very own pout. “Yes, I know, I’m a horrible beast, but please, for me, eat a little more.”

“Isn’t force feeding against the Geneva Convention?” Sherlock asked, pushing his plate away.

“Would you know, I’m not sure.” Mycroft saw Sherlock smirk, thinking he had won the argument. “But darling, I’m Mycroft Holmes, the Geneva Convention does not apply to me. Now eat something before I unleash Gregory ‘The Brute’ on your behind.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother, almost daring him to say no.

“Yes, Mycroft.” Sherlock sighed, pulling the plate back towards himself.

“Thank-you.” Mycroft leant over and squeezed Sherlock’s knee. “Eat all of what is on your plate right now, and I’ll let you pick the movie.”

“You already said I could pick the movie!”

“That was before you two decided to wrestle each other, on my good rug, might I add. So eat up please.”

“Fine.”

“Thank-you.” Mycroft winked at Sherlock when he was sure the other two weren’t looking, he was rewarded with a small smile, just for him. 

“Right, I’m going for a smoke.” Greg stood up and moved towards the backdoor. “Who’s joining me?”

“I’ll wait for this one to finish” Mycroft nodded his head at Sherlock who was reluctantly doing as he was told, and finishing his dinner.

“I’ll come out for some fresh air.” John stood and followed Greg into the garden and Mycroft leant back in his chair to keep an eye on his brother.


	3. Chapter Three

Greg and John were stood on the patio outside the backdoor, Greg hungrily taking a drag of his cigarette as John wondered back and forth.

“You’ll stay the night, right?” Greg asked John before exhaling.

“Of course.” John gave Greg a small smile and the older man couldn’t help himself, he reached over and ruffled John’s hair,

“Oi!” John ducked out of the way, smirking.

“I know, I know, you’re still not great at physical affection when you’re all ‘adult’. Not that you’ve been behaving very maturely this evening.” Greg raised an eyebrow at John as he took another long drag on his cigarette.

“I know, sorry.” John mumbled, kicking his foot at a loose piece of the patio.

“Well, Myc got a hug when you arrived. I feel left out.” Greg pretended to pout.

“Well I’m not letting you near me when you stink of fag ash.”

“Ah!” Greg gasped, “Fag?! Gimme a hug or I’ll tell Myc you used a homophobic slur-“

“I did not!”

“I don’t think he’ll give you time to argue mate, might even pull out the old cane for that one!”

“I did not call you a….a….I would never!” John stamped a foot for emphasis.

“I know, you git, just give me a bloody hug!” Greg flicked the remains of his cigarette into the dark garden and held his arms open.

“Fine.” John sighed and stepped into Greg’s arms, the older man instantly wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, momentarily lifting him off his feet in his enthusiasm before finally releasing him. John took a couple of steps back and tried to catch his breath. “Christ, you don’t do anything half arsed do you?”

“Nope.”

“John, Gregory!” Came the call of Mycroft from the kitchen and without another word the two men walked back into the house.

“Oh, good lord,” Mycroft made a show of waving his hands around, “The two of you stink of fag ash-“

“Oh, for fuck sake!” John threw his head back in frustration,

“Well you shouldn’t make me force a hug out of you, Watson.” Greg added with a raised eyebrow. “Where’s Holmes the second?” he looked back at his husband.

“In the living room, having a meltdown because I won’t unlock the television.” Mycroft uttered with a sigh.

“I thought he was allowed to pick the movie tonight.” John asked.

“He was.”

“Was?” Greg asked with a smirk.

“Well it would seem that a can of lager has made our darling Lock even more stroppy than usual.”

“I am not stroppy!” Came the shout from the other room. Mycroft sighed and leant back against the counter top, unsure if he was wanted to laugh or smack the tantrum right out of the bugger. He decided to just carry on as though the commentary and momentary sounds of sofa cushions being flung about in the other room had been muted.

“Now, who told me that it was a good idea to let the boy have a drink?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John.

“Ay, I didn’t say it was a good idea. I said I love drunk Sherlock…. which is true.” John clarified.

“And to be fair, you did just hear the story of the last time Sherlock got drunk. You should have known he’d be ripe for a smacking by now.”

“Well to be honest dear, I was rather looking forward to a nice, civilised evening with the three of you. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the cruel disciplinarian that you all make me out to be.”

“We never!” John started.

“Civilised?” Greg chuckled in response. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft warned, and Greg noted the look in his eye.

“Alright, here,” Greg pulled a chair out from the table and nodded his head in its direction, Mycroft sat down. “You and John have a catch up, I’ll go and deal with prince charming in there.”

“Thank you darling.” Mycroft sighed, and Greg kissed the top of his head before moving into the living room.

He wasn’t expecting to walk into a disaster zone, but that he did. It looked as though every single piece of soft furnishing in the room had been in some way rearranged. He thought he saw what looked like a couple of stray feathers near one of Mycroft’s favourite cushions, but he was going to fling them out of the window given the first opportunity, have whatever tear in the fabric fixed and pretend that he’d never seen a feather in his life. God knows what Mycroft would do to poor Sherlock’s behind if he had damaged one of those ludicrously expensive (embroidered by blind nun’s, apparently) design pieces. 

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Sherlock was still raging away so Greg took a step backwards towards the kitchen and quietly closed the door between the two rooms before puffing himself up to his full height (and width). “Sherlock. Holmes.”

Well that worked. Sherlock stopped in his tracks like a cartoon character, moving his eyes to look at Greg but not daring to move any other body part. Greg took a couple of steps forward until he was standing roughly in the middle of the room, he snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor in front of him. “Come here.” For a split second he could see Sherlock’s mind racing, unsure whether it was safe to move, but then deciding that it was probably safest to simply do exactly as he was told, his body relaxed as he stopped holding the statuesque position he was standing in and he shuffled over to Greg. Once he was stood in what felt like the mountain sized shadow of Greg, he looked up at the older man. “Why are you throwing a tantrum?” Greg asked calmly, Sherlock gasped,

“I do not throw tantrums’!” He squeaked. 

“Then what would you call this?”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he thought for a moment, trying to find some way of making whatever all of this was into something respectable. 

“A……protest.” Sherlock looked very pleased with himself at that one.

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t give yourself undue credit. This is not a protest. This, is a temper tantrum. And you are not some dashing bloody renegade, you are a very silly little boy.”

Sherlock’s gaze instantly dropped to the carpet and his lip unfortunately fell into an unintended pout. 

“Now. You are going to put absolutely everything back in its right place, do you hear me?”

Greg looked down at Sherlock expectantly and saw him give a very small nod. “Ah-ah, I said do you hear me?” Greg tilted up Sherlock’s chin with a single finger.

“Yes.” Came the quiet response. Greg’s eyebrows raised, “sir.” 

“Mm.” Greg nodded. “And then when everything is back in its rightful place, you’re going over my knee for a smacking-“

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to (actually) protest this time. Before he could make a sound, Greg placed his palm under Sherlock’s chin and gently (but firmly) closed his mouth for him. “No arguments. You’ve been spoiling for a smacked bum since you got here, and unfortunately my lad, now I have to deliver. Get to it.” Greg nodded his head in the general direction of the enormous mess Sherlock had made and when the younger man made no move to do as he was told, preferring instead to grumble at the carpet, Greg turned him around and landed a forceful smack to his arse. “Now, Lock.”

Sherlock squeaked and hopped away, rubbing his backside and Greg heard the quiet sounds of complaint, he was going to ignore it until he heard what sounded like “trumped up copper” at which point he loudly asked, “What was that, lad?”

“Nothing!” Sherlock flashed him his most innocent smile and started the unpleasant task of righting his wrongs.

After what was about ten minutes for most humans and several hours for Sherlock Holmes, the living room was put back to its former glory and Greg could hear the happy sounds of John and Mycroft reconnecting in the other room. Sherlock stood and fussed with the buttons on his shirt, not wanting to look at Greg but managing a quiet, “Done.” 

“Good as new. Well done.” Greg nodded, and Sherlock glanced up just far enough to see the chuffed expression on the man’s face, causing Sherlock to blush a little with pride. “Now.” Greg walked around and sat down on the sofa, slapping his hands down on his thighs he looked up at Sherlock, “Come ‘ere.” 

Sherlock let out a little high-pitched whistle of dread, “But I put everything back!” he whined.

“Yes, you did and I’m proud of you for that, you did very well.” Sherlock blushed again. “But, if you insist on being a naughty boy who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way, then you will get your bum smacked. Now come here.” Sherlock groaned but didn’t move. “Oi! Here, right now, or I’ll give you a strapping instead.” Sherlock decided on the lesser of two evils and shuffled towards Greg. “Over you go.” Rather than comply Sherlock decided on a last-ditch effort to avoid what anyone else could see was inevitable.

“Couldn’t I just apologise to Mycroft?” Greg was incredulous, did Sherlock really see an apology to Mycroft as being on a par with getting his arse walloped by Gregory Lestrade? Christ those Holmes boys had their priorities all wrong and Greg would have to right them. But for now,

“Oh, you will absolutely be apologising to your brother, and if I were you I’d make it bloody good, or my knee won’t be the only one you’re acquainted with tonight. But that’s after. Now over my knee, Lock, last chance.”

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed and finally positioned himself over Greg’s lap. 

“Oh, I’ll give you fine, lad.” Greg sighed and started smacking in earnest. 

Before too long Greg had a lap full of fully repentant Sherlock and he stopped smacking. “Do you want to come up?” He asked gently, and he saw Sherlock nod and sniff at the same time. Usually when Sherlock was ‘grown’, or as grown as Sherlock Holmes ever got, and Greg punished him, there were no cuddles or overtly loving exchanges. However, they had been growing noticeably closer in their adult lives and Greg had been hoping for a chance to try it out. “Here, come on silly boy.” Greg was prepared for the sudden fury of an embarrassed and sore Sherlock but that didn’t come, instead Sherlock let Greg guide him up off of his knee and into a sitting position on the older man’s lap. A sniffling Sherlock instantly sighed and leant sideways against Greg’s chest. Although Greg wasn’t currently his ‘Da’ alter-ego, he was the paternal figure that Sherlock looked up to and the affection was greatly appreciated, even if it did follow…. that. “Oh lad, you can’t help but make life difficult for yourself, can you?”

Sherlock let out a weak chuckle, “No.” He picked at the sleeve of Greg’s shirt.

“Mm. Let’s you and me just sit here for a moment. Then, young Holmes, you are going to give your very best apology to your big brother. Very best, Sherlock, or I’ll let Myc smack your legs and sit you in the corner.”

“No.” Sherlock groaned weakly.

“Well, apologise properly and it won’t come to that, now will it? Silly lad.” Greg rubbed Sherlock’s back. After a few minutes sitting in comfortable silence together, Greg patted Sherlock’s back, “Right, come on, you.” Sherlock nodded and climbed up off Greg’s lap. Once they were standing Greg had a good look at Sherlock, “Come ‘ere a minute.” Greg leant forwards and wiped the tears from Sherlocks’ cheeks with his thumb. “There, that’s better isn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded, and Greg led the way towards the kitchen finally opening the door between the two rooms. The second the door was open the warm, happy energy of the kitchen seeped out into all of the other rooms of the house, making both Greg and Sherlock feel much lighter. John and Mycroft stopped laughing about whatever it was they had been discussing and glanced over at the two men. “Oh darling, come here.” Mycroft beckoned Sherlock over and Greg leant against the door frame, giving John a quick reassuring wink. From where he was sitting Mycroft wrapped an arm around the still standing Sherlock, pulling him close. “Got yourself into trouble, brother mine?” Sherlock nodded.

“I’m very sorry Mycroft, but I made a mess of your things in the living room.”

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked for clarification with an arched eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, he’s fixed it, everything’s back in its rightful place.” Greg added from the doorway.

“Oh good.” Mycroft nodded giving Sherlock a couple of light pats on the bum, “Glad to hear it.” Sherlock visibly relaxed when Mycroft didn’t explode, or more importantly smack his legs and sit him in the corner, crumpling into an empty seat at the table with a wince.

“Oh mate,” John sounded full of sympathy, “Did he give you a real walloping?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded, and John gave him a light smack on the shoulder in solidarity. 

“A very well-deserved walloping, mind.” Greg added indignantly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but you’ve got one hell of an arm, Lestrade.”

“I know, I should join a cricket team or something all the training I get keeping you two in line.” Greg made a show of stretching out his overused right arm.

“Three.” Sherlock smirked.

“Hm?”

“Keeping the three of us in line.” Sherlock tilted his head in Mycroft’s direction. The elder Holmes straightened up and looked outraged,

“I do not need, ‘keeping in line’!”

“Oh, yes you do.” Greg moved over to Mycroft’s side and wrapped an arm around his husband. “Truth be told, you’re the worst of the lot.”

“I knew it!” Sherlock grinned, looking over at John to make sure he’d heard.

“That’s a shame, Lock, I was going to let you choose the movie after all…” Mycroft picked at his fingernails absent-mindedly and Greg smirked.

“Oh, please, please! I’ll be good I promise.” Sherlock span back around to face Mycroft, “Pretty please!” He fluttered his eyebrows in his brothers’ direction and Mycroft melted.

“Very well-“ Sherlock was off, racing back in the direction of the television, “Sherlock!” the three men in the kitchen could practically hear Sherlock turn on his breaks and turn back to the doorway. “John can help you pick, but you two had better be civil,” Mycroft pointed an accusatory finger at each of the two men in turn, “Or I’ll smack your bare behind’s and send you straight to bed!” 

“Yes Mycroft!” Sherlock called as he raced back to the television and John almost knocked over his chair as he sprung after him. 

“And lines in the morning!” Mycroft called and heard a mumbled, ‘yes’ from the both.

“I think we’ll both need a scotch before we continue.” Greg half laughed half grumbled as he walked over to the counter and started to pour two glasses.

“Oh, you are an angel.”

“Aren’t I just.” Greg waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously and Mycroft laughed as he stood up to join him, swatting Greg’s arse this time,

“You, behave.”

“Yes dear.” Greg held up his glass and Mycroft clinked his against it. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“We might just about survive the night.”

“One can hope.”


	4. Chapter Four

John was reclined on the sofa, television remote in hand as Sherlock sat cross legged a foot from the screen.

“Oh, what about that one!” Sherlock excitedly poked a long finger at the screen,

“Nooo,” John sighed, “He’ll never let us watch that one.”

“Excuse me!” Mycroft called through the open door to the kitchen, “Who’s he? That cat’s mother?!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John earning him a snicker and pushed himself up onto his feet before striding towards the door, “Mycroft. Mycroft will never let us watch that one!” he corrected John’s complaint before dramatically slamming the door shut.

He spun around on his toe to get back to the matter at hand and caught the look on John’s face as he peered over the back of the sofa in Sherlock’s direction, it was a look that said ‘Uh-oh.’ 

“Not good?” Sherlock mouthed with a grimace.

“A bit not good.” John mouthed back sympathetically.

The door swung open to reveal a very tall, very broad and very cross Greg Lestrade.

“Very. Last. Warning.” Greg growled, “The pair of you.” He looked between them.

“What did I do?” John spluttered.

“John Hamish Watson.” Greg cast a very dangerous look in John’s direction and the sound of John’s teeth snapping closed could be heard by a very smug Mycroft at the kitchen table. He always found Greg ridiculously attractive when he was like this, particularly when he wasn’t on the receiving end. 

“You,” Greg pointed a finger at Sherlock, “Have already been over my knee once this evening and you,” he turned his finger on John, “You’ve been pushing your luck all bloody week.” John blushed. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had been going out of his way to be lippy with Greg at work that week. He wasn’t sure why, probably because it was bloody fun! 

“Now it’s movie night, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s supposed to be a laugh. But if you two don’t smarten up sharpish it’ll end very soon and with a bloody good rollicking from my belt for the both of you.” The colour instantly drained from both John and Sherlock’s faces and Greg was very proud of himself (though he couldn’t show it of course, he saved that little win away to remember later). “Now, apologise to your…Mycroft.” Greg pointed a finger in Mycroft’s general direction.

“Sorry Mycroft.” The two younger men called in unison.

“Apology accepted.” Mycroft called back.

“We’ll be in in a minute, choose a nice, friendly film for us.” Greg turned back towards the kitchen but stopped himself looking back at the chastised men, “Behave!” he pointed an authoritative finger at them in turn.

“Yes sir.” John murmured before giving Sherlock a meaningful look,

“Yes sir!” Sherlock jumped to add after reading John’s look. 

“Better.” Greg nodded, “The bloody cheek of those two…” he grumbled as he returned to his husband in the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind him.

John let out a long whistle, “Oh, I really thought you’d done it there.”

“Me too,” Sherlock grimaced, “Fun though.” He smirked, and John chuckled,

“Yeah. As long as you don’t get me a strapping before the night’s through.”

Sherlock started to wander back to the television, “Ohh, scared of ‘getting in trouble’?” Sherlock teased, adding the air quotes.

“No!” John sounded more defensive than he would have liked, “But I am scared of Greg and his bloody belt!” 

“Yes, me too actually.” Sherlock winced as he sat back down on his still quite sore backside. John cast him a brotherly look of sympathy.

“Now come on, let’s pick something.”

Sherlock turned his attention back to the screen and watched as John scrolled through the options.

“Ohhh, that one!” Sherlock pointed at the screen and looked over his shoulder with a Cheshire cat grin.

“No! No way!” John cast a quick look over his shoulder just to check they were still safe. “They’ll never let us.”

“Who said anything about let?” Sherlock waggled his eyebrows and John accidently made a high-pitched whining noise, “Give me the remote.”

“No!”

“Oh, come on John-John, I’ll take the blame if you’re scared.”

“It’s John, thanks mate.” John glared back at him, “And no you won’t, we’re brothers. All for one and one for all and all that crap.”

Sherlock beamed up at him and John couldn’t help but smile back. “But no. No way I won’t let you, tonight’s not the night. You heard him, and I’d really like to sit down at some point this week.”

Sherlock sighed, “We won’t actually watch it, just to the first jump scare! Mycroft will do that little yelp-scream thing he does and clutch his beating heart like an Edwardian dame, we’ll all laugh then we’ll put something else on.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock perked up, but John continued, “Right up until the ‘we’ll all laugh bit’. We’ll- “John pointed between the two of them, “Laugh, then we’ll both be murdered by the Brute.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Sherlock tried,

“No, it won’t. And you know it, I’m just saving your arse mate, literally. Big brother knows best.”

Sherlock was about to make a retort about Mycroft when he saw that John was pointing at his own chest. That did it. John always won the bloody arguments.

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed, defeated. “How about just the first thirty seconds, just until the title comes up?”

“Sherlock- “

“Please?!” Sherlock pleaded, “Just so I can show Myc I can beat his stupid screen lock?” 

“Is that what this is all about?!”

“No! I genuinely want to scare him, he reactions are just so funny,”

“They are.” John smirked,

“But if you won’t let me do that, at least let me prove I can unlock the- “Sherlock waved his hands in front of the television, “Thingy.”

John let out a long-suffering sigh, “Fine, but quickly before they come back in.” Sherlock grinned and reached for the remote which John handed to him. He had to admit, trouble was fun. And he was pretty sure that this wasn’t enough trouble to get either of them ‘turned over a knee’. When Mycroft saw that Sherlock could beat his system he would just update it with a shiny, new, even harder to break one. This was a clip round the ear territory at the most.

Sherlock stood up and focused on the screen and John leaned back to watch the genius at work.

There was brief, glorious moment where the two of them thought he had done it. The big black ‘Lock Box’ left the screen with a little chirping noise and Sherlock grinned over his shoulder at John.

Then there was a loud, too loud, obnoxiously loud siren noise and the screen went red with ‘Attempted Breach” written in big, black, incriminating letters across it. John was about to let out a stream of expletives when his surrogate younger brother surprised him by beating him to it.

“Fuck!” so it wasn’t so much a ‘stream’ of expletives but still fairly new territory for Sherlock, John was enjoying a brief moment of pride in the younger man when suddenly Sherlock span on his heel and threw the remote, full force, across the room towards the wall. Well that had been Sherlock’s plan. Only Mycroft and Greg had, unbeknownst to the boys, both run through from the kitchen when they heard the sound of the siren and Mycroft was now standing directly in between the propelled remote and it’s target of the wall.

For a brief, horrendous moment all four men thought they might be on their way to A&E. But brilliantly, Mycroft’s training kicked in and he ducked at the last moment. John and Sherlock both had a nanosecond to enjoy the feeling of relief that flooded them…before the sound of something smashing pulled them straight back to fear. 

All four men turned their attention, slowly, to the source of the sound. One of Mycroft’s most favourite (and the three other men had assumed on the day of purchase, most expensive) vase’s lay in pieces on the floor.

For a few seconds the room was horribly quiet, there was just the sound of a clock ticking away in the distance. Mycroft and Greg both turned their attention slowly from the broken vase back to Sherlock and John, they were both…pissed.

“Sherlock Holmes!” Mycroft thundered as he crossed the room in three strides gripping his younger brother by the arm.

John tried to make a break for it fleeing in either the direction of the front door or the stairs, he wasn’t really sure which, Greg saw him though, “No you don’t!” he barked as he went after him. He caught John’s ear just as he was about to dash up the stairs, pulling him back down with an “Ow, ow, ow!” from John. 

“Oh, just you wait.” Greg responded in a terrifying low and dangerous voice. They watched as Mycroft swept Sherlock’s legs out from under him bringing him down across his lap on the sofa and pinning him with his free leg.

“You beastly child!” Mycroft lectured, one hand still gripping Sherlock’s arm and holding him in place as the other hand made quick work of pulling down Sherlock’s trousers and pants. “How many times have I told you? ‘If you break my nice things, I will break your bottom!”

“Oh,” Greg remembered the spatula in his back pocket and pulled it out, “Here love,” Greg handed it over,

“Thank you dear.” Mycroft gave it a test swing at Sherlock’s thigh and he yelped before groaning and hiding his head in his arms. 

“Right, we’ll leave you two to it. I’ll deal with this one.” Greg released John’s ear and he immediately reached up to rub it. Greg nodded his head in the direction of the stairs, “Up!”

“What?” John stammered still trying to get the feeling back into his ear.

“You heard me,” Greg turned John by his shoulders, so he was looking up the staircase, he landed a hard smack on his arse, “Up!” John dashed up the stairs two at a time trying to escape Greg’s swing and the older man followed.

John hovered on the landing, unsure where Greg wanted him to go, once Greg had joined him he nodded towards John and Sherlock’s room and John rushed to do as he was told scurrying into the room and watching at Greg shut the door behind them. 

“M’sorry Greg!” John tried but Greg held up a hand to stop him.

“Enough. You are the big brother, John. You have final say between the two of you.”

“I know.” John mumbled at the floor, not feeling at all like Greg’s ‘mate’ or equal anymore. 

“You could have stopped him,”

“I tried!” John protested.

“Not. Hard. Enough.” Greg let out a long breath through his nose as he calmed himself down. “That down there, that should never have happened, and you know that.”

John nodded.

“But you have just been begging for my attention all bloody week, well now you’ve got it.”

John had never felt so chastised in his entire life. Although he felt terrible and certainly didn’t want the hiding he was clearly heading towards, he looked up to Greg so much and trusted him so much that even in that moment, he felt safe.

“Right, trousers down, hands on the dresser.” Greg nodded towards the chest of drawers and started to pull his belt through the loops.

“Ohhh.” John whined.

Greg raised an eyebrow, “Would you rather go over my knee for a smacked bum and sat in the corner for a time out like your little brother downstairs?”

“No sir.” John grumbled.

“No, I didn’t think so. Go on.” John shuffled over and dropped his trousers, “Pants too my lad.” John groaned but did as he was told, Greg walked over and folded his belt in two, keeping the buckle in his fist and out of the way. “I think six should do it,” John let out a little sigh of relief, he could survive that. To be honest he would take six with the belt over an angry spatula wielding Mycroft any day. “Mm.” Greg patted John on the back reassuringly, reading his mind. Despite what the younger men might think, Greg didn’t actually want to break their arses. In this situation Greg just wanted to treat John like the big brother he was when he and Sherlock were ‘big’. And, frankly, to give him the hiding he deserved, he had been misbehaving all bloody week and it was driving Greg up the wall.

John winced and breathed heavily with each of the six smacks and was really feeling it by the end. His arse was now a painfully red colour that made Greg wince in sympathy, it made the spanking he’d delivered to Sherlock earlier pale into insignificance. “All done. Good lad.” Greg patted John on the back and held a pair of pyjama bottoms aloft. John let out a weak little laugh in thanks and wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. He stepped out his trousers (he didn’t even want to imagine putting them back on) and into the softer, looser alternative. 

Greg sighed, “Come ere.” He put a hand on the back of John’s head and pulled him close, John let Greg wrap his arms around him and cried into his chest as Greg rubbed his back. “Oh, come on my boy, you’ll survive.” John continued to cry. “I think you and me’ll have an ‘us’ day tomorrow, eh?”

“U-huh.” John just about managed.

“Yeah, that’ll be nice. Come on, let me have a look at you.” Greg pulled John back at arm’s length for a moment, “Oh lad,” Greg pulled him back to his chest. “Was I that bad, eh?” John didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. It wasn’t really all that bad, it hurt like hell but would survive. He just needed a cry and a hug from his father figure. “You’re a brave boy, you’ll be alright.”

“Hardly.” John sniffled, straightening up and wiping his eyes on the back of his hands.

“Eh?”

“I’m snivelling, hardly brave.”

“Nonsense.” Greg reached over to wipe away John’s tears, “Having a good cry after your dad wallops your arse is imperative. I should know, I’ve done it enough times me self.” Greg smiled fondly at John, “And don’t give me that look, I know some long words.” John peered up through his lashes and Greg winked. “Right, get out of that shirt and into something comfortable and we’ll go and find our naughty Holmes boys.” Greg gathered up John’s clothes from the floor and put them in the wash basket as John pulled on a soft long sleeve t-shirt. (In case he needed to wipe his nose without anyone noticing, he still felt a bit teary, well Greg would notice but he didn’t mind that).

John shuffled down the stairs after Greg and they found Mycroft and Sherlock on the sofa, Mycroft holding a very sorry for himself Sherlock in his lap, naked from the waist down and clearly quite a bit younger than John now. 

“There they are,” Mycroft smiled kindly up at Greg and John.

“Little brother.” John mumbled as he walked over to them, “Sorry I got you in trouble.”

Sherlock pouted and nodded. Greg and Mycroft exchanged a look (that little pain in the arse). 

“I’m going to make hot chocolate and then I’m choosing what we watch.” Greg declared as he walked into the kitchen.

“John, dear, will you sit with your brother for a moment,” John nodded and swapped places with Mycroft, wrapping his arms around his very cuddly little brother, “I’ll just go and get him some pyjamas and a pull up- “

“Noo! Sore bum!” Sherlock declared before putting his thumb in his mouth.

“And whose fault is that, hm?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow as he climbed the stairs.

“John-John.” Sherlock babbled to himself as he settled into John’s lap.

“Love you, trouble.” John said as he stroked Sherlock’s hair. 

“Mm.” Sherlock agreed before taking John’s hand and replacing his own thumb with John’s. John chuckled to himself,

“Better?”

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes.


End file.
